


Connect

by cal1brations



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: (well... chems), Hand Jobs, Love Confessions, M/M, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, References to Drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 21:55:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5760304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cal1brations/pseuds/cal1brations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hancock tells Nate he loves him in the middle of a standoff, with bullets and Molotov’s raining just past them, tucked behind a makeshift wall of sandbags.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Connect

Hancock tells Nate he loves him in the middle of a standoff, with bullets and Molotov’s raining just past them, tucked behind a makeshift wall of sandbags. He can barely hear what Hancock is saying from all the gunfire up ahead, and he doesn’t spare Nate the preamble, either. It’s the whole confession, awkward pauses and all.

It’s one of the greatest moments of Nate’s life.

Unfortunately, there is still work to do, so after telling Hancock a few too-sweet words in kind, Nate tells him to hang onto the thought, put a pin in it, because they are definitely having a recap of this conversation once they’ve got these douchebags out of here—a little settlement that Nate didn’t stick around to help build some walls and fences for due to lack of his very thinly-spread time. Figures.

Nate doesn’t think he’s mowed assholes down as fast as he does right then.

But, even after the dust has settled, they wait until they’re somewhere a little more suited to continue the conversation, _just_ in case.

* * *

 

So, they end up in Goodneighbor, after all is said and done.

Nate’s bandaging himself up on the bed while Hancock stores their loot, up in the Old State House, tucked into one of the side rooms that Hancock has so graciously supplied with a mattress and a couple chem coolers. He claims it’s not a room for Nate, because that’s stupid, mixing business and pleasure, but Nate’s seen the cans of purified water stashed in the sack of goodies Hancock keeps tucked behind the door, so he’s not fooling anyone.

A few scrapes from some tumbling and a couple nicks from bullets, but all in all, Nate is feeling pretty good. Maybe because the Mentats from earlier haven’t exactly worn off yet, but Nate feels like it’s probably because he’s still hearing Hancock’s voice from earlier in his head, words that Nate would not suspect a guy like him would be uttering, especially not to the likes of Nate.

_You, you’re the best thing I’ve got._

Nate drops the first-aid kit he’s trying to jam bandages and cotton balls back into, drawing Hancock’s attention via questioning look.

“You alright?”

Nate nods, awkwardly so. Tells himself not to be such a damn loser, and leans over to set the kit by the wall, pushed out of the way. He gives it one solid glance as he thinks of what he should say to start the impending conversation, but once he looks at Hancock, all train of thought comes to a screeching halt, and the only thing Nate knows how to do is open his big fat mouth and blurt out whatever.

“So,” is how Nate starts. “Earlier?”

Hancock lets out a sigh, and Nate watches his shoulders slouch—in upset or just the action of sighing, Nate isn’t exactly sure. But, Hancock slowly turns around, and moves to take a seat somewhat beside Nate there on the mattress, bowing his head forward a bit.

“You sure you wanna open this can ‘a worms?” Hancock asks, casting a sideways glance Nate’s way. “Gonna be pretty hard to ignore if you make me say it all _again_ , y’know.”

Nate feels his mouth go dry. Hancock is right, things _will_ be pretty weird if they decide to put this all behind them, but Nate _wants_ Hancock to say it all again. He wants to make sure it’s real, like it wasn’t something the heat from Molotov’s made him hallucinate or something else equally as wild.

They’re alone, everything is settled outside of this.

Nate nods.

Hancock smiles, looking at the wall in front of them. “Figures,” he grunts, but Nate doesn’t give a reply, so Hancock decides to continue. He lets out a long breath before he starts.

“I’ve been run—“

“Wait,” Nate interrupts, watching Hancock stare at him with very thinly-disguised panic in his ink-back eyes. “Don’t—just, get to the short of it? I don’t think I can handle the story again right now,” Nate admits with a lopsided smile, shrugging a shoulder. Ordinarily, Nate doesn’t mind listening to Hancock tell him stories, vent to him, but with his heart hammering in his throat at the intensity of this conversation, where it’s going to go, Nate really doesn’t think he can handle waiting through all of Hancock’s explanation before he gets to the important part—

“I’ve never felt like this before—and, I kind of _like_ it,” Hancock explains, in a bit of haste, in case Nate decides to cut him off again (but he won’t). “And it’s because of you. And. Uh.”

“Uh,” Nate echoes with a smirk, and Hancock finally cracks a smile, a sincere one, as he rolls his eyes.

“ _Uh_ ,” Hancock reiterates with a little squint, “You—you’re the best thing I’ve had. For a long time. And…” He pauses, fixing Nate with a gaze that Nate is all too familiar with, the look of… _sincerity_ … (something else, something else entirely) in his eyes as he tells Nate the rest, almost hushed.

“And, I don’t wanna run anymore. I want this.”

Nate can barely hear his own voice above the deafening thrumming of his heart. “And this is…?”

They’re leaning into each other now, Nate notices. It’s a little weird, but a good-weird, the kind Nate remembers from long ago, an almost-childish feeling of giddiness, excitement, a little bit of embarrassment, _happiness_.

Their noses don’t brush together to mark the loss of space between them, but Nate still shivers at the feeling of Hancock’s breath on his upper lip as Hancock tells him quietly, too softly:

“You.”

Nate doesn’t wait after that, and moves in the rest of the way to kiss Hancock, a hand automatically coming to hold Hancock by the lapel as he really kisses him, certainly no measly peck to mistake for something stupid or meaningless.

Hancock slouches into the kiss, automatically opens up to Nate’s advances, like he’s been waiting a hundred years to have a taste of Nate, to feel Nate’s tongue sliding in his mouth, against the teeth he actually has, feeling Nate’s stubble scrape against his chin, the tip of Nate’s nose nudging at Hancock’s cheek as he kisses him.

Kissing Hancock is unlike any other experience Nate has had with kissing people. Maybe it’s the texture of his lips, the taste on his tongue, but it’s oddly delicious, not something to dislike. Nate kisses him until the adrenaline seems to catch up with him, and his heart is racing too hard and his hands are trembling a little too much for comfort. That’s when he pulls back, taking in slow breaths as he watches the half-lidded look on Hancock’s face; he doesn’t pull back far, to be clear with his intent.

He isn’t going anywhere.

“I—“

Nate stops whatever Hancock is going to say. “I know,” he tells him, even though he doesn’t really know, but it’s not hard to guess. But Nate isn’t as good with his words, not as good as Mentat-popping Hancock is, and he doesn’t want to fumble, not when he can kiss Hancock some more instead, see what he’s been missing out on for the past several months.

He pulls Hancock in for another kiss, and apparently this means more than the first, if Hancock’s reaction is anything to go by. The way he reaches for Nate this time, fists the back of Nate’s shirt as he actively participates this time, scooting a bit on the bed to get closer, as close as he can get without actually throwing his leg over Nate and straddling him.

But he wouldn’t mind that, Nate finds himself thinking with a bit of surprise as his hands skirt over Hancock’s chest, give Hancock’s sides a little pull, a welcoming tug. It seems Hancock isn’t sure how to interpret this, because while he does squirm closer, as soon as his legs are bumping Nate’s, he stops with that, and focuses on holding Nate where he is, so they don’t have to stop their kissing, which is grown quite sloppy with the two of them both struggling with the undertones of want.

“C’mere,” Nate finally grunts out loud, yanking Hancock by the hips until he gets the message, and only then does Nate find himself with a lapful of ghoul, Hancock’s weight quite pleasing; it’s been a long time indeed since he’s been in a position like this—

But he really can’t think of that, not right now, not like this. Not with Hancock kissing him over and over, little mumbles of _oh my god_ and _holy shit_ in between that make Nate groan low, under his breath. It’s _really_ hot, hearing Hancock murmur like that, especially because it’s due to Nate, and Nate doesn’t really know what to do with himself, only that he wants— _needs_ —more.

“Guess I—wasn’t the only one havin’ _impure_ _thoughts_ ,” Hancock chuckles breathlessly between harsh kisses with Nate, and he gives one firm rock of his hips as he settles in Nate’s lap, wrenching a gasp out of the man. Hancock kisses his way from Nate’s lips, down his chin, against the sharp line of Nate’s jaw, tasting and exploring his smooth, whisker-laden skin.

As soon as Nate gets a bit more handsy, Hancock gives Nate’s broad shoulders a shove (well… a push, because shoving a guy Nate’s size is just simply not something that happens) to lie him back, which Nate complies with. He quickly decides that Hancock kissing him while simultaneously pressing him against the mattress is a hell of a feeling—arousing and comfortable all at the same time—and Nate lets out an appreciative groan as Hancock’s teeth nip around the edge of his jaw.

Hancock’s throaty chuckle feels absolutely _sinful_ against his skin, the wicked grin on his lips. “ _Mm_ ,” he hums, almost thoughtful, “ _That’s_ what I like to hear.”

Nate catches Hancock’s jaw then with his fingertips, drawing him in for another languid kiss. He feels Hancock’s legs tucked tight around his narrow hips, and when Hancock presses his hips into Nate’s, he can feel _much_ more—surprisingly, the feeling of Hancock’s dick rutting, clothed, against his own is enough to make Nate drop his head back, brows knitted tightly together as he gasps out a low, “ _Oh_ _god_.”

“That’s it, yeah,” Hancock practically purrs, and Nate can’t help the jerk of his hips that comes in result from the full-body shudder in reaction. Thankfully, his receptiveness (and response) to Hancock’s advances earn him more than just kissing and grinding, and Nate barely notices his belt and fly being undone between wet kisses until he feels Hancock guiding his cock out, humming low in his throat as he wraps a hand round it, teasingly light as he tests the feel of it in his palm.

Nate thinks he hears Hancock mutters something like _nice and smooth here, too_ , but he doesn’t quite hear it over the loud noise he makes in delight; it’s been a long time since anyone’s touched him like this, since he’s even done it himself, and it takes a great amount of muted struggle not to blow his load just from Hancock’s fingers circled around him, giving him a squeeze.

With little preamble (thank _god_ ), Hancock begins to stroke him while Nate fists his hands in Hancock’s coat, anchoring him. He settles into a rhythm that does nothing for Nate’s self-restraint, and all Nate finds himself able to do is moan, rut, and hang on while Hancock mutters low growls of things against his lips, between the deep kisses he grants Nate when he isn’t gasping for air.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Nate hisses out, and he nearly chokes when Hancock, for some reason, _stops_. Lucky enough, it seems the pause is only for a change in position, wherein Nate lets his legs fall open a bit wider and Hancock settles over his right thigh; his knee sits comfortably at the apex of Nate’s thighs, nowhere near injury-worrying, and once they’re settled again, Hancock starts up, stroking him with a new sense of purpose: driving Nate fucking _insane_.

It occurs to Nate, when his hips stutter from Hancock’s stroking and he knows he’s about to come, that he should be doing the same for Hancock, quid pro quo. However, thought seems to leave him entirely when Hancock twists his hand just right, fingers just tight enough around him, and Nate’s body tenses and arches as he comes into Hancock’s hand, gritting out throaty groans of swears and a warbled version of Hancock’s name.

“Quite the performance,” Hancock mutters, gruff, against Nate’s neck, and even though he feels boneless and sated, Nate still manages to wiggle his hand down between them, to palm Hancock through his trousers. The resulting “ _Uhnn, yeah”_ Nate earns from the action is quite the spur to continue.

Nate cocks his head a bit, watching Hancock’s marred face contort with delight as Nate slowly strokes him like that, through his trousers. Mostly because Nate feels he has no idea what he’s doing—he’s never exactly jerked another guy off before—but also because of implications Nate really doesn’t want to think about when there’s better things to be doing. Like giving Hancock a squeeze and listening to the choked gasp he sucks in, the slurred “ _Fuck yeah”_ he hisses as he rolls his hips against Nate’s hand, into Nate’s thigh.

Eventually, though, Hancock makes the decision that Nate was a bit too wary to make, and rolls back just a little to fumble with his zip, and Nate decides there’s good enough reason not to look down when he grabs Hancock’s dick and pumps him, instead listening to the ragged breaths Hancock makes into his neck, against his shoulder, as he bucks into Nate’s hand.

Hancock’s fingers bite into Nate’s shoulders, holding him close as he gasps about being close, fuck, just a—little more—and Nate doesn’t relent. He teases the head, ignored the warped texture of the should-be smooth skin as he jerks him off, and nearly groans himself when Hancock spills into his palm, hips twitching as he revels in the feeling.

He doesn’t wipe his hand on Hancock’s clothes—that’s a little gross—so he just leaves it be while Hancock flops, leaden, beside him, letting out the most relieved-sigh Nate thinks he’s ever heard a person give. Nate smiles at that, and the two of them fall silent as they catch their breath together, staring up at the ceiling.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Hancock murmurs, awestruck, and Nate grunts his agreement with the statement. Holy shit indeed, he thinks, because there are many thoughts going through his head at this new development. He tries not to dwell, because Nate is not so stupid as to look a gift horse in the mouth in the midst of nuclear aftermath; if this is the new nature of their relationship, Nate isn’t going to complain.

Nate does know, however, that he is exhausted. He wants to curl up behind Hancock and sleep, like any good partner/jerk-off pal/something would do, except Nate knows ghouls don’t… really sleep. At least, they don’t have to. Whether or not an orgasm changes that, Nate doesn’t really know, but he isn’t about to pin Hancock down if the guy has other preferences to lying awake beside Nate for several hours.

“You—don’t have to, y’know,” Nate stammers, awkwardly so, while Hancock slides his gaze towards him, “Uh, stay. Here. Because the no-sleep… thing.”

Nate always sounds dumb, on a normal basis, talking about things he doesn’t know about (an excellent example: ghouls). When he’s lying in bed with one, awkwardly trying to dismiss him in favor of not making things horribly awkward, Nate figures he sounds incredibly stupid, and if there was a box (or seven) or Mentats nearby, he’d be eating the damn things like candy right about now.

Instead, Hancock laughs once he finally seems to catch what Nate has said, which technically isn’t a _bad_ thing. Except for when Nate says innately dumb things, like what he’s just said, and Nate is almost completely sure Hancock’s laughter is at his expense.

“You _really_ should cut back on talkin’ about shit you don’t know about, sunshine,” Hancock tells him. The name is clearly sarcastic, but even with the rest of his statement, Nate knows there’s a smile on his face, so he’s… probably not angry. Especially because Hancock turns to settle into the hollow of Nate’s arm, making himself comfortable, so Nate figures he hasn’t made a horrible blunder.

So they lie there, side by side. Nate’s go an arm extended out, which Hancock has his temple resting on, and Nate can’t think of doing anything but sleeping.

“We sleep, by the way,” Hancock says, very much _not_ tired, like Nate feels. Nate slowly turns to look at him, nearly jumps to see Hancock already looking at him.

“We don’t _have_ to, technically—but I ain’t volunteering for that,” he explains, and exaggerates the action of nestling in beside Nate. “Sometimes it’s good to waste eight hours doing nothing, right?”

“Probably,” Nate answers, unsure if it’s the right answer. Hancock chuckles, though, so Nate can’t help but give a little snort of his own, smiling as his eyes slowly close again.

Hancock doesn’t say anymore, and that’s good, because Nate is too tired to handle much more conversation than what they’ve just exchanged. He nods off like that, Hancock tucked into his side, and it’s the most peaceful thing he’s had in his life in probably two-hundred years, plus some change.

It’s _almost_ enough to forget.

Except when Nate wakes up with a familiar sickness in the pit of his stomach that, when Hancock asks what’s bothering him, Nate can only think to choke out, “ _Radiation_ ,” as he throws himself to the edge of the mattress and vomits.

Hours later, when Nate is nursing a dull headache and slowly drinking some water—because the whole radiation sickness thing is old, so he’s getting used to it— Hancock seems to stiffen up before he bursts out laughing, splutters something about radiation and “it’s all in my system” and Nate feels the blush burn over his face, the tips of his ears and down his chest.

He supposes they’ll have to think a little more regarding the whole “radioactive bodily fluids” thing the next time Nate goes shoving his hand down Hancock’s trousers; when he tells Hancock this, Hancock only grins.

“So that means there’s a next time?” He asks, lopsided grin looking incredibly cheshire.

Nate pointedly turns to squint at the empty corner of the room as he sips his drink, and does his best to ignore Hancock as he tells him not to be like that, c’mon!

Ignoring Hancock crawling over the mattress to flop Nate over and kiss him some more is a little bit harder, though.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Nate is suffering ahahahaha have fun with your radioactive bf you nerd. You think I don't make radioactive semen jokes? 
> 
>  
> 
> _Think again, son._


End file.
